Oneshots for the Newsie Paper Selling Competition
by Justlookatme
Summary: This is purely a collection of the stories I'm writing for the forum "Newsies Paper Selling Competition", but feel free to read what you want! :)
1. Birthday Blues for the Crippled Crutchie

Hey all! This is a submission for the first circulation of the Newsies Paper Selling Competition, and I hope you like it! Sorry I've been kinda MIA. My birthday was two days ago (I'm now officially a SWEET SIXTEEN-ER!), and we were away for the weekend. But, I hope you all like this!

I don't own Newsies. DUH.

* * *

Birthday Blues for the Crippled Crutchie

By Justlookatme (AKA Nicky)

April 12th was a special day in the Newsie house, for one boy in particular.

Crutchie woke up early that morning, his face warmed by the sun rise. He felt different, in a good way. Was it the realization that he was turning sixteen, a milestone birthday for many kids in New York living on the streets for as long as he did, or the fact that he woke up with no pain in his bad leg, unlike the last year?

Who's to say?

The Crippled boy pulled himself up into a sitting position on the fire escape, watching the sky explode into beautiful shades of blue and pink, more magnificent than any color he had seen from the Vaudeville shows in his life. A smile graced his lips as he watched the sun ascend gracefully, the streets of New York completely silent for once in his life.

That is, until the morning bell rang loud and proud for the entire lodging house to hear.

"Wake up, boys! The headlines are fresh, the papers are hot, and the newsboys gotta sell 'em!" Kloppman called from a few floors below them, his sharp voice pricking the dirty ears of each and every boy covered in ink.

Jack let his eyes flutter open and land on his best friend-no, his brother, and smiled. "Sleep well, Crutch?"

The younger boy, though not much younger, nodded, and began to put on his outfit. His silent morning was now ended, and it was back to reality, no matter how cruel and harsh it was at some points.

_Maybe today will be different_, he thought to himself. _They'll give me a break, won't they? It's my birthday. They should…_

He slid down the ladder, once completely clothed, and tucked his crutch under his arm like usual. Jack followed behind, rambling on about his crazy dream, where he and Katherine were racing along in the sunset, but all Crutchie could hear was the stabbing realization that Jack had forgotten his birthday…

"Hey, Jack?" He asked, a weak smile playing upon his lips as they began to rally all the Newsies together, the motley and vibrant crowd of thirty boys all jumping up and down around them. "Um, d-do you 'member what today is?"

The oblivious leader of the Newsies lifted his head to the sky, eyes searching the now standard blue that it would stay for the rest of the day. "Uh, the twelfth?"

Crutchie's shoulders sunk, and he fell back a little father in the group. "N-Nevamind."

_He's a really busy guy, Crutchie. Give 'im a little, and he'll remember, just like you did for him. And Specs. And Davey, and all the other boys in the lodging house…_

The Newsies arrived at the Circulation desk minutes later, Jack arguing with Davey about something and the rest of the boys busy squabbling amongst themselves. Crutchie kept to himself, trailing in the back and trying to focus on the good of the day still. His leg still felt great, the morning sunrise was the most beautiful thing he had seen all day, and there was surely someone that remembered his birthday, right?

"'Ey, Crutchie, hurry up! We'se gotta sell dem papes if we wanna make it to da bakery and get those muffins wit da sugah on da top for breakfast!" Race called out as he picked up his papers for the day.

Race should know. He remembered stuff all the time. Stupid stuff, but still important stuff.

The two boys rushed out as fast as they could go, well, as fast as _Crutchie _could go, towards the bakery that was a few blocks over, harking out the headlines as they went. Race kept going on and on about how he was gonna win big at the racetracks today, he could feel it.

"Numba 16, that's whose gonna win tuhday!" He shouted to the skies, a huge smile spreading itself out smoother than butter.

_How ironic_. Crutchie thought with an eye roll.

When the two came upon the bakery, and Race stopped to finally take a breath, the Birthday boy took his moment to speak up. "'Eh, Race?"

"What?"

"When do, uh, when do birthday's stop bein' noticed?" He asked hesitantly. He never wished to be rude and expecting of others to remember such a small detail that didn't really quite matter any more.

Race thought for a second, tapping the ash off the butt of his cigar. "Well, I dunno. When I became a Newsie, I kinda forgot about growin' up and all. It was bad for biz'ness, lookin' older than you are. Why?"

"No reason." He replied as the two walked up to the bakery. Though almost unseen, Crutchie felt his heart sink a little bit.

The two went through a silent breakfast, ordering their sugary breakfast treats as the short blonde girl behind the counter kept making lovey dovey eyes at Race, and eventually gave them their muffins for free.

"I'se is gonna go talk to her more." Race smiled, eyes stuck to the blonde as he began to saunter towards him, swagger in each step. He barely uttered a goodbye to Crutchie, leaving him alone at his table with his muffin untouched.

"Maybe Spot will remember. I remember tellin' 'im about it last week." He mumbled to himself as he stuck his crutch under his armpit and stuffed his muffin back in it's paper bag.

He left the bakery, and hobbled in the afternoon light towards the Brooklyn bridge, hopeful Spot wasn't too far away. Maybe the Delanceys would keep themselves away for the day, though there didn't seem to be much faith left for Crutchie.

Though the entire way to the bay, his mind kept fighting him. Did the boys really forget his birthday? Was it really not that important? Could he be searching for the caring smiles that would never appear? Should he just let it go?

The hustling and bustling bay was wild with the Brooklyn Newsies as Crutchie hobbled over the bridge, still deep in thought. Should he even go this far to get a 'Happy Birthday' from someone? Did it matter that much to him?

Apparently so.

"What do we 'ave here? The Crip wants to come onta our turf!" One of the newsie boys cried out, folding over with laughter. "He looks like a regula fish outta water!"

The rest of the boys chorused in laughter with the one boy, as Crutchie let his smile turn into a tight line. "Know where Spot Conlon is?"

"He ain't gonna answer to a crip!" Another boy called out, his chest bare and moist with the water of the bay. A few other Newsies crowded around him, thick arms crossed and staring down the crippled boy with hateful eyes.

"Go home, kid. He ain't gonna talk to you!" The first boy called out as he joined the pack of wet boys crowding together, pressing Crutchie further back towards the edge of the dock, and closer to the water.

"And he talks to some idiots like yourselves?" Crutchie called back, his crutch ready to defend himself against any of the boys and their attacks.

Bad idea.

The tallest out of the pack was nearing him, popping his knuckles fiercly. "'Scuse me?"

"Y-You heard me." Crutchie called out, dropping him muffin on the dock to look more defiant. "Now, get me Spot Conlon."

"No one," Another boy growled out, stronger than the first, and stepped forward. "Calls da Brooklyn Newsies 'idjuts'."

And quicker than Crutchie could even register what was going on, he felt two hands grip either part of his vest, and a sharp fist slam into the side of his face. His crutch fell from his grip as the other boys tossed him into the bay, laughing and jeering amongst themselves.

"H-help!" He screeched as the salty water stung his face and he felt the waves slip over his head. His good leg kicked furiously in the water, trying to push himself up in a hopeless battle against the tide. "I-I can't swim!"

The last thing he saw was the familiar suspenders and striped shirt of Spot Conlon dive in after him as he felt himself sink down father.

* * *

The disgusting taste of salty sea water stung at his chapped lips as he coughed up the rest of it stuck in his throat.

Where was he? His whole body ached, and the odd feeling of sheets tying him onto the bed was angering him. He wanted to get up, to talk to Spot and hear at least one 'Happy Birthday'.

Or anyone. He just wanted to be remembered.

"Whoa, take it easy there, kid." Someone replied from behind Crutchie's capless head. "You took a mighty spill there."

"Spot?" He asked, propping himself up on his elbows as the boy took a seat on the windowsill. His curly hair was flattened against his head, darker than usual. Had he dove in after Crutchie?

"The one and only." He beamed, folding his arms across his chest. "Jack just about fell over and died when we brought you in soakin' wet. Thought the Delanceys got you, or somethin'."

Crutchie took a breath, shaking his head as he leaned back to the bed, a hand over his eyes in shame. "God, I shoulda never gone over there. I'm such an idiot."

"And care to explain why you'se is an idiot?"

The boy looked up at Spot Conlon meekley as he began to let the disappointing tale of his disastrous sixteenth birthday tumble out of his mouth, suddenly realizing how vain he sounded. "I-I'm sorry Spot, I just thought you mighta remembered."

Conlon smiled, standing from his place at the windowsill and walking towards the door. "I did. And just so you know, so did they."

Crutchie's eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

With a simple wave, he slipped out of the doorway, and Crutchie listened to his feet stomp against the stairs of the lodging house all the way down. Murmuring rose from the floorboards, and the crippled boy couldn't help but throw off the blankets from his feet and reach for his crutch, his hope renewed.

Crutchie eagerly grabbed his crutch and hobbled towards the door, down the stairs, into the dining room to find-

"SURPRISE!"

Every newsies that Crutchie had ever known was standing in the dining room, eyes bright with love and happiness. A bunch of old copies of the World were hung from the ceiling, spelling out 'HAPPE BIRTDAY CRUTCHIE' in all it's misspelled glory. A sugar-coated muffin similar to the one from this morning sat on the dining room table, along with a brilliantly beautiful painting of the sunrise, courtesy of Jack. He had stood at the front of the group, his smile reaching all the way to his eyes.

"Happy Birthday, Crutchie!" He yelled, rushing forward to his brother and enclosing him in a hug. "We all love ya lots!"

Tears stung at Crutchie's bright blue eyes as he breathed in the familiar scent of sweat in ink wafting through the room.

_They remembered. They really did. _


	2. Chapter 2

Hey all! This is a submission for the first circulation of the Newsies Paper Selling Competition, and I hope you like it! Sorry I've been kinda MIA. My birthday was two days ago (I'm now officially a SWEET SIXTEEN-ER!), and we were away for the weekend. But, I hope you all like this!

I don't own Newsies. DUH.

* * *

Birthday Blues for the Crippled Crutchie

By Justlookatme (AKA Nicky)

April 12th was a special day in the Newsie house, for one boy in particular.

Crutchie woke up early that morning, his face warmed by the sun rise. He felt different, in a good way. Was it the realization that he was turning sixteen, a milestone birthday for many kids in New York living on the streets for as long as he did, or the fact that he woke up with no pain in his bad leg, unlike the last year?

Who's to say?

The Crippled boy pulled himself up into a sitting position on the fire escape, watching the sky explode into beautiful shades of blue and pink, more magnificent than any color he had seen from the Vaudeville shows in his life. A smile graced his lips as he watched the sun ascend gracefully, the streets of New York completely silent for once in his life.

That is, until the morning bell rang loud and proud for the entire lodging house to hear.

"Wake up, boys! The headlines are fresh, the papers are hot, and the newsboys gotta sell 'em!" Kloppman called from a few floors below them, his sharp voice pricking the dirty ears of each and every boy covered in ink.

Jack let his eyes flutter open and land on his best friend-no, his brother, and smiled. "Sleep well, Crutch?"

The younger boy, though not much younger, nodded, and began to put on his outfit. His silent morning was now ended, and it was back to reality, no matter how cruel and harsh it was at some points.

_Maybe today will be different_, he thought to himself. _They'll give me a break, won't they? It's my birthday. They should…_

He slid down the ladder, once completely clothed, and tucked his crutch under his arm like usual. Jack followed behind, rambling on about his crazy dream, where he and Katherine were racing along in the sunset, but all Crutchie could hear was the stabbing realization that Jack had forgotten his birthday…

"Hey, Jack?" He asked, a weak smile playing upon his lips as they began to rally all the Newsies together, the motley and vibrant crowd of thirty boys all jumping up and down around them. "Um, d-do you 'member what today is?"

The oblivious leader of the Newsies lifted his head to the sky, eyes searching the now standard blue that it would stay for the rest of the day. "Uh, the twelfth?"

Crutchie's shoulders sunk, and he fell back a little father in the group. "N-Nevamind."

_He's a really busy guy, Crutchie. Give 'im a little, and he'll remember, just like you did for him. And Specs. And Davey, and all the other boys in the lodging house…_

The Newsies arrived at the Circulation desk minutes later, Jack arguing with Davey about something and the rest of the boys busy squabbling amongst themselves. Crutchie kept to himself, trailing in the back and trying to focus on the good of the day still. His leg still felt great, the morning sunrise was the most beautiful thing he had seen all day, and there was surely someone that remembered his birthday, right?

"'Ey, Crutchie, hurry up! We'se gotta sell dem papes if we wanna make it to da bakery and get those muffins wit da sugah on da top for breakfast!" Race called out as he picked up his papers for the day.

Race should know. He remembered stuff all the time. Stupid stuff, but still important stuff.

The two boys rushed out as fast as they could go, well, as fast as _Crutchie _could go, towards the bakery that was a few blocks over, harking out the headlines as they went. Race kept going on and on about how he was gonna win big at the racetracks today, he could feel it.

"Numba 16, that's whose gonna win tuhday!" He shouted to the skies, a huge smile spreading itself out smoother than butter.

_How ironic_. Crutchie thought with an eye roll.

When the two came upon the bakery, and Race stopped to finally take a breath, the Birthday boy took his moment to speak up. "'Eh, Race?"

"What?"

"When do, uh, when do birthday's stop bein' noticed?" He asked hesitantly. He never wished to be rude and expecting of others to remember such a small detail that didn't really quite matter any more.

Race thought for a second, tapping the ash off the butt of his cigar. "Well, I dunno. When I became a Newsie, I kinda forgot about growin' up and all. It was bad for biz'ness, lookin' older than you are. Why?"

"No reason." He replied as the two walked up to the bakery. Though almost unseen, Crutchie felt his heart sink a little bit.

The two went through a silent breakfast, ordering their sugary breakfast treats as the short blonde girl behind the counter kept making lovey dovey eyes at Race, and eventually gave them their muffins for free.

"I'se is gonna go talk to her more." Race smiled, eyes stuck to the blonde as he began to saunter towards him, swagger in each step. He barely uttered a goodbye to Crutchie, leaving him alone at his table with his muffin untouched.

"Maybe Spot will remember. I remember tellin' 'im about it last week." He mumbled to himself as he stuck his crutch under his armpit and stuffed his muffin back in it's paper bag.

He left the bakery, and hobbled in the afternoon light towards the Brooklyn bridge, hopeful Spot wasn't too far away. Maybe the Delanceys would keep themselves away for the day, though there didn't seem to be much faith left for Crutchie.

Though the entire way to the bay, his mind kept fighting him. Did the boys really forget his birthday? Was it really not that important? Could he be searching for the caring smiles that would never appear? Should he just let it go?

The hustling and bustling bay was wild with the Brooklyn Newsies as Crutchie hobbled over the bridge, still deep in thought. Should he even go this far to get a 'Happy Birthday' from someone? Did it matter that much to him?

Apparently so.

"What do we 'ave here? The Crip wants to come onta our turf!" One of the newsie boys cried out, folding over with laughter. "He looks like a regula fish outta water!"

The rest of the boys chorused in laughter with the one boy, as Crutchie let his smile turn into a tight line. "Know where Spot Conlon is?"

"He ain't gonna answer to a crip!" Another boy called out, his chest bare and moist with the water of the bay. A few other Newsies crowded around him, thick arms crossed and staring down the crippled boy with hateful eyes.

"Go home, kid. He ain't gonna talk to you!" The first boy called out as he joined the pack of wet boys crowding together, pressing Crutchie further back towards the edge of the dock, and closer to the water.

"And he talks to some idiots like yourselves?" Crutchie called back, his crutch ready to defend himself against any of the boys and their attacks.

Bad idea.

The tallest out of the pack was nearing him, popping his knuckles fiercly. "'Scuse me?"

"Y-You heard me." Crutchie called out, dropping him muffin on the dock to look more defiant. "Now, get me Spot Conlon."

"No one," Another boy growled out, stronger than the first, and stepped forward. "Calls da Brooklyn Newsies 'idjuts'."

And quicker than Crutchie could even register what was going on, he felt two hands grip either part of his vest, and a sharp fist slam into the side of his face. His crutch fell from his grip as the other boys tossed him into the bay, laughing and jeering amongst themselves.

"H-help!" He screeched as the salty water stung his face and he felt the waves slip over his head. His good leg kicked furiously in the water, trying to push himself up in a hopeless battle against the tide. "I-I can't swim!"

The last thing he saw was the familiar suspenders and striped shirt of Spot Conlon dive in after him as he felt himself sink down father.

* * *

The disgusting taste of salty sea water stung at his chapped lips as he coughed up the rest of it stuck in his throat.

Where was he? His whole body ached, and the odd feeling of sheets tying him onto the bed was angering him. He wanted to get up, to talk to Spot and hear at least one 'Happy Birthday'.

Or anyone. He just wanted to be remembered.

"Whoa, take it easy there, kid." Someone replied from behind Crutchie's capless head. "You took a mighty spill there."

"Spot?" He asked, propping himself up on his elbows as the boy took a seat on the windowsill. His curly hair was flattened against his head, darker than usual. Had he dove in after Crutchie?

"The one and only." He beamed, folding his arms across his chest. "Jack just about fell over and died when we brought you in soakin' wet. Thought the Delanceys got you, or somethin'."

Crutchie took a breath, shaking his head as he leaned back to the bed, a hand over his eyes in shame. "God, I shoulda never gone over there. I'm such an idiot."

"And care to explain why you'se is an idiot?"

The boy looked up at Spot Conlon meekley as he began to let the disappointing tale of his disastrous sixteenth birthday tumble out of his mouth, suddenly realizing how vain he sounded. "I-I'm sorry Spot, I just thought you mighta remembered."

Conlon smiled, standing from his place at the windowsill and walking towards the door. "I did. And just so you know, so did they."

Crutchie's eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

With a simple wave, he slipped out of the doorway, and Crutchie listened to his feet stomp against the stairs of the lodging house all the way down. Murmuring rose from the floorboards, and the crippled boy couldn't help but throw off the blankets from his feet and reach for his crutch, his hope renewed.

Crutchie eagerly grabbed his crutch and hobbled towards the door, down the stairs, into the dining room to find-

"SURPRISE!"

Every newsies that Crutchie had ever known was standing in the dining room, eyes bright with love and happiness. A bunch of old copies of the World were hung from the ceiling, spelling out 'HAPPE BIRTDAY CRUTCHIE' in all it's misspelled glory. A sugar-coated muffin similar to the one from this morning sat on the dining room table, along with a brilliantly beautiful painting of the sunrise, courtesy of Jack. He had stood at the front of the group, his smile reaching all the way to his eyes.

"Happy Birthday, Crutchie!" He yelled, rushing forward to his brother and enclosing him in a hug. "We all love ya lots!"

Tears stung at Crutchie's bright blue eyes as he breathed in the familiar scent of sweat in ink wafting through the room.

_They remembered. They really did. _


End file.
